Drabbles, OS, and passing thoughts
by Paersephone
Summary: Multiple pairings and sometimes no pairings at all. I just want to have a kind of masterfic where everything can be stored, so it doesn't get too crowded on my profile yet. All HP-related, some AU, some canon. FIRST FOR NOW : Someone Who Cares. Neville doesn't feel so well after discovering who exactly was usurpating Moody's identity.
1. Directory

Hi ! So this is a kind of masterfic in which all my OS and drabbles will be posted. Sometimes I have an idea and just don't pursue it and I think it's too bad so I will from now on, I guess?

Here is the only OS so far:

**1\. Someone Who Cares.** Neville/Theodore is hinted. Neville doesn't feel so well after discovering who exactly was usurpating Moody's identity.

Hope you like it! Reviews are, as always, much appreciated.


	2. Someone Who Cares

Neville was crushed.

He was crushed and couldn't sleep and kept crying under his covers. It had been _him_. The only teacher he had been able to connect to this year except for Professor Sprout had actually been the man who had tortured his parents into insanity.

It had been four weeks since Harry had survived the graveyard and he hadn't been able to do anything but cry and stare into his empty room and his grandmother hadn't said anything which was even worse somehow. He wanted her to scream at him, to throw priceless trinkets at his head, to ban him from the greenhouses he hadn't even set foot in for a whole month. But she had just been silently shocked and disappointed and their meals were silent and tense.

She'd dragged him by his ear when he hadn't visited his parents in two whole weeks, still silently except for a 'Let's go, Neville' that had been cold and empty. He had cried in his chair that day and his grandmother had just made conversation with the Healers and tried to tell a few words to his dad. When she had gone to the loo about halfway through the visit he had cried again and said _sorry, sorry, sorry _to his parents but they had just been agitated by his outburst and the Healer had kindly said that perhaps he could take a break outside just for a few moments?

Fuck, he had even told fake Moody about his parents and he had been compassionate and somewhat kind while inside he was probably cackling with laughter. He wanted him dead and yet he wasn't even dead, just didn't have a soul anymore.

It didn't seem like enough a price, when he thought about it. He would have liked the bastard to rot in Azkaban and become even more crazy than the Aurors he had tortured, for an eternity.

And yet, he wasn't.

And the worst thing was, nobody had even bothered to ask how he was. He was feeling depressed and wanted to fucking die but nobody had bothered to check on him. Even McGonagall hadn't made the connection, caught in the aftermath of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return. Even Sprout hadn't said a word to him, just a sad, sad smile.

He wasn't even sure they even knew how devastating this was.

He had almost written a letter to Harry but had thought better of it, considering he was dealing with his own trauma. He had seen a friend and rival die just in front of him and was probably sleepless, too. He didn't want to impose.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling into nothing, and considering whether someone would care if he actually died.

"Neville, you will get dressed, eat breakfast, and do your homework."

"No."

He had never dared to talk to his grandmother like that; but it didn't even matter anymore. His bloodshot eyes were still trained on the ceiling and he hadn't even showered in three days.

"Now, Neville. This has lasted enough. Your parents would not want you to brood."

"Wouldn't they?" he asked bitterly. "Even after actually _bonding _with Crouch?"

His voice was hoarse and a lonely tear made its way to his ear, rendering it uncomfortably wet.

"It…" She sighed and considered him sternly but with a hint of hurt and anguish he wasn't able to see. "Fine. Fine."

She left and he kept staring.

It was, in the end, a note that got him out of his depression. The owl kept tapping at his window and was screeching and annoying and he got a headache so he rose up to open the panel for the animal to swoop in. It left a note, threw him an annoyed look, and went its way.

The note was tempting but he was oh so tired and went back to sleep, but it was still there the next morning, a crisp, new-looking parchment with his address neatly written on the envelope.

Annoyed at himself, he went to his desk and ripped it open.

_Longbottom, _

_I just wanted to say. Shite, it's stupid, but I've been thinking about you this summer, and I figured it must be tough on you. I don't think your stupid friends now about that anyway so I just thought I'd check on you, just to clear my stupid conscience or something. _

_I just wanted to say that we didn't know about Crouch either and I remember my father telling me about what he did to your parents. I'm sorry. I really am. I know he had a special interest in you and this is just sick. _

_Just, don't do anything stupid, okay? I'll see you in the fall, although you won't even know it was me who wrote you this. But, just know someone actually cares. _

Neville stared at the letter and read it again, and another time just to be sure. He knew this handwriting. The dots on the _i_ and _j_s were peculiar and he knew who it was when he saw how neat and precise the handwriting was. He had seen him writing when he had thought no one was looking.

He hid the note in his desk and stretched his stiff limbs before taking a long shower, washing his hair and body thoroughly. Then, he ate breakfast with his grandmother. He couldn't talk to her just yet, but would. Someday. Before school.

Once back at his desk, he dipped the tip of his quill in his inkwell, and grabbed one of the formal-looking parchments his grandmother insisted he used to write to her and other 'important people.'

_Dear Theodore, _he wrote with his most beautiful handwriting. _Thank you. _


End file.
